Classic Poem

“A NGLERS ! ye are a heartless bloody race,”
'Tis thus the half-soul'd sentimentalist
Presumes to apostrophise us to the face;
Weak, paltry, miserable antagonist!
To deem by this compassionate grimace
He doth sweet service to humanity;
And yet when of his fellows' misery,—
Of wars, of pestilence, and the woes that chase
Mankind to the interminable shore
He hears, to treat them with a hasty sneer,
Nor let their shrill appeal disturb a tear
Or one emotion waken in his core!
It is too much! Anglers, your cruelty
Is tend'rer than this man's philanthropy.